


Negotiating Positions

by Pat_Jacquerie (Pat_Nussman)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Dubious Consent, Episode: s04e12 Warlord, F/M, PGP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pat_Nussman/pseuds/Pat_Jacquerie
Summary: When one of the Warlord planets turns out to be run by a Warlady instead, Avon must attend the negotiations as Soolin's 'male possession,' a position that has duties he didn't anticipate.





	Negotiating Positions

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This was a turning point story for me, towards adult fiction that was more intense and explicitly erotic. I'd begun reading slash, noticed that the form seemed (as a whole) more intense, both emotionally and sexually. As an experiment, I thought I'd try applying some of elements I'd found in slash into a heterosexual adult story, with the result you see below.

_Note: This story originally was part of a round robin, but is complete in itself. The only things you need to know is that PGP Servalan captured Our Heroes and drugged them with a substance designed to get them to Tell All, but instead has the side effect of making them spill out their sexual histories. As the story opens, Servalan has just told Avon that one of the people present has betrayed him, and says the names of all the crew, except for Soolin, whom she derisively calls 'the mercenary'._

  

"Hey, you left out Soolin." Vila scowled at Servalan with drugged indignation. "'S not fair, to leave out S'lin; she could've betrayed Avon easy as any of us. Couldn't you've, Soolin?" 

"Probably much easier." Soolin shifted her position to keep Servalan in view as she glided around Avon like some overgrown vulture. If she only had a clip-gun...well, she was probably too drugged to use it, anyway. "But he's my employer, Vila, and a contract's a contract. Besides, I believe I'm the 'mercenary' she referred to...apparently, the commissioner's managed to misplace my name."

"I wouldn't forget your name, Soolin." Vila assured her with slightly maudlin earnestness. "Wouldn't forget anything about you. Like that passionate encounter we had on the way back from, back from..."

"...From the lurid depths of your imagination, Vila." 

Vila shook his head mournfully. "'S true. Only in my dreams. You wouldn't screw any of us, would you? Not even on a bet. Not me, not Tarrant, not Dayna, not Av..." He glanced over at her as he spoke and apparently caught some expression she didn't realize was there. His eyes widened. " _Avon_? Avon the iceberg?"

Soolin tried to clamp her teeth over a reply. No good. The drug had her in its grip as firmly as any of her comrades, and... Her gaze fell on Servalan's furious--jealous?--face. Come to think of it, this could be amusing. Not that she had the personal reasons for hating Servalan that the others did, but the woman wasn't exactly showing a tender regard for any of their feelings right now, was she? "Not a bet, Vila. A job. Part of the service required when we were negotiating the warlord alliance." She stared steadily at Servalan, a smile growing on her lips. Yes, she was going to enjoy this. "When we were negotiating with the _female_ warlord."

Vila's head swiveled around towards their nominal leader. "You didn't tell us about _that_ , Avon."

"It wasn't...successful." Avon said distantly.

"No," Soolin acknowledged, still smiling. "But it was entertaining."

Servalan abruptly left Avon to standing threateningly over Soolin, her hands clenching over empty air in frustration. "This is not what I want to--" 

Vila's voice cut across Servalan's, his drugged indignation drowning her protest. "A female warlord and you didn't take me? That's unkind of you, Avon...well, even more than usual." An edge touched his voice that Soolin didn't entirely understand. 

"I needed to take one of the women, Vila. Females make the decisions on that world. Men are merely chattel, kept for their amusement value."

Vila's eyes widened. He seemed to like the implication.

"You could have taken me, as well as Soolin," Dayna pointed out. Her eyes were bright with interest and curiosity.

For the first time, a slight smile touched Avon's lips. "Well, now. I didn't want to be outnumbered."

Soolin laughed. "But you were, Avon. You were."

*******

"Don't snarl at me. As I recall, this was entirely your idea, Avon." Not that Soolin didn't enjoy snapping the silver-plated handcuffs around Avon's wrists. But the restraints were largely ceremonial, after all, and what was required of every man visiting court, so what was the fuss?

Avon pressed his lips together and turned the snarl into a glare. The self-styled master of Xenon Base hadn't minded sending Dayna as Tarrant's "handmaiden" when the two had negotiated with Chalsa, clothing her in a confection of sheer, skimpy scarves that had driven the younger man half mad with suppressed lust. But let the boot be put on the other foot... 

"Mistress Soolin?" A male (of course) slave bowed low before her, his own manacled hands folded in respectful supplication. "The warlord Kalia Ricia will see you now."

Soolin smiled at the slave's bent head--oh, yes, she could get used to this--and turned to walk firmly down the broad aisle intersecting the presence chamber to the raised dais where the warlord held court. Avon followed at the requisite three paces behind, looking less like a properly-cowed slave than an aristocratic panther searching for a piece of meat to rend apart with his bare teeth. Bloodily. 

Fortunately, she wasn't responsible for his performance. Just her own. Stepping up to the dais, she bowed. "Lady."

The warlord was neither charismatic nor terribly impressive, but rather a quiet-looking woman perhaps fifteen or twenty years older than herself, of medium height and weight with dark hair cut into a short bob. Unimpressive as she was physically, the aura of authority she wore was as obvious as the ceremonial red and gold robes that hung untidily around her shoulders. 

Instinctively, Soolin liked her. But she doubted Avon shared the sentiment. Especially as her gaze swept over him dismissively and focused immediately on Soolin. "Welcome." Rising from her throne, she descended the stairs with no particular attempt at grace and embraced Soolin. "I hope our talks may be productive for both our sakes. I am Kalia Ricia, warlord of Freyuss."

"Soolin of Xenon and the anti-Federation alliance."

Kalia stepped back and gave Soolin her hand politely, having evidently studied at least some aspects of Federation custom. She tilted her head at Avon. "And this is your," she seemed to be searching her mind for a translation of some native term, "male possession?"

Soolin forced down an almost irresistible bubble of laughter that threatened to break free from her throat. "Kerr Avon, your excellency."

Avon, thank Whomever, kept his gaze down as befitted--one supposed--a proper male possession. Soolin admitted to herself that the phrase had a rather nice ring to it, especially as it applied to her arrogant employer. 

A protocol officer, identifiable from her green-and-bronze robes, stepped closer to Soolin, whispering in her ear, "Now you must offer your male possession to the warlord."

" _What_?" Somehow she turned her head away from Kalia, keeping her query to a surprised hiss directed toward the protocol officer. Beside her, she could feel Avon catch his breath sharply.

"Just for the evening," the officer whispered placatingly. "It is customary, to symbolize the amity between the negotiating parties."

Amity. Well, she was all for amity, though she doubted if Avon felt similarly. But he was the one determined at all costs to forge an alliance among the warlords. Besides, she could hardly consult him about the matter now, in front of the warlord. Negotiators seldom asked their slaves who they did and didn't want to fuck. 

She cleared her throat. "Your excellency..." She realized she had no idea how to phrase this. _Would you like to screw my employer? Everyone else does, figuratively if not literally._

Kalia took pity on her ignorance of proper etiquette. "I would be honored if you would share your male with me, Soolin. It is kind of you to offer. You will sit beside me at dinner, then bring him with you to my chamber afterward."

The warlord smiled again, brushed Avon's cheek with one slender, capable hand, then turned away, her robes drifting in red and gold waves in her train.

Soolin made her way thoughtfully out of the presence chamber, her male possession in her wake. Hmmm, Kalia had instructed her to _bring_ Avon to her chamber and...share? That meant, she supposed, that she wasn't intended to simply drop Avon off and pick him up in the morning. She was supposed to...share. The evening was to...symbolize amity.

What an interesting mission _this_ had turned out to be.

*******

After a moment, Vila remembered to close his mouth. Then promptly opened it again. "Why does Avon get all the luck?" He shot the computer expert an irritated look. "Did he get to go to dinner, too? What did you eat? More important, what did you drink?"

Soolin couldn't prevent herself from replying, though she did manage to bypass the menu and the wine list, at least for the moment. "He wasn't a guest at dinner, Vila. Since he was posing as my male possession, my slave, he helped serve at dinner." She tried to keep the next sentence in her mouth, but it spilled out of its own accord. "On his knees."

"On his _knees_?" Vila echoed delightedly. Whatever grudge he held against Avon appeared to be temporarily forgotten in his interest, not to say pleasure, in the tale. "That's hard to imagine, Soolin. But I'm having a lot of fun trying."

Avon turned a disdainful look upon the other man, but for once seemed to have no ready repartee to offer.

"What did he do while he was on his knees?" Vila's imagination obviously ran rampant over a whole array of possibilities.

"It was a state dinner, Vila," Soolin explained patiently. "He poured the wine, cut the meat..." Soolin felt a smile take over her own countenance, despite all efforts to the contrary. "...and looked very decorative."

******

_Very_ decorative. Avon's ordinary leather and fabric outfits being inappropriate for his station, the climate, and the occasion, Soolin made a brief shopping expedition to buy her male possession garb for the banquet. 

Suicide was not on Soolin's agenda, so she bypassed the masculine equivalent of Dayna's scarves and nothing--apparently a popular item for male possessions--opting instead for a relatively conservative body suit in pristine white.

Not Avon's preferred color, but apparently no one wanted her helot looking like the chief mourner in some unnaturally extended obsequies, so that option didn't exist.

As far as the actual amount of fabric went, the garment could be expected to cover Avon almost as fully as his usual bulky black armor, since it extended from slightly below the collarbone to wrist and ankle, leaving only the hands and feet bare. But the material itself offset the modest effect of the cut, a nearly translucent knit designed to cling to every contour of a man's body and conceal almost nothing of the flesh beneath. 

If Avon possessed the most minuscule scar, it would be public knowledge after tonight.

Soolin added an elaborately engraved and chased pair of manacles and a matching silver collar to her purchases. Making a good appearance counted, and the white and silver would make a pleasing contrast to Avon's dark hair and eyes. Besides which, Avon planned to wipe out any debts they ran up with a touch of computerized sleight-of-hand before they left, so she needn't pinch credits.

She returned to their assigned quarters to find Avon sitting by a small game board, turning a playing piece over and over between his blunt, capable fingers, something she'd seen him do countless times around base, when disturbed or simply thinking deeply.

For a man who tried to put up such an imperturbable front, he certainly had a lot of nervous habits.

"Here." She tossed the package onto his lap. "Better get dressed." _Or undressed, as the case may be._ "We're due at the banquet in forty minutes."

Not being in the mood for caustic badinage, Soolin promptly disappeared into her bedchamber, taking her time in donning the simple black caftan she'd purchased along with Avon's more eye-catching costume. She could seldom wear black without playing dueling funerals with Avon, so she might as well enjoy it. An elaborate, half-braided, half-looped hairstyle killed additional time.

Coming out barely five minutes before showtime, she found Avon waiting at the door, looking...

*******

"Yes, yes, spiffy outfit," Vila interrupted impatiently. "But I want to hear about the part where Avon's on his knees. I've never seen Avon on his knees," Vila added reflectively. "I think it'd be fun."

Soolin tried to bite back her instinctive reply, but the drug wouldn't allow her even a modicum of discretion. "Vila," she said frankly, "I wouldn't have missed it for all the gold on Zerok."

*******

Avon sank gracefully to his knees in the indicated space between Soolin's and the warlord's dining couches. Really, he looked quite nice in that position. Almost natural, if one ignored the "I want to kill everyone within fifty spacials" look that flashed momentarily in his dark eyes.

"Your male dresses up quite beautifully," Kalia commented.

Soolin raised an eyebrow. She didn't consider the relative lack of any substantial clothing dressing _up_ , precisely. But... "Thank you, your excellency." 

"You have superb taste." Whether the warlord referred to the clothing or the man within, she didn't specify, and before any further compliments could be exchanged, the banquet began.

During an eventful six months of bodyguard duty for an overly-ambitious politico, Soolin had attended an average of twenty state banquets a month on an outlying world very much like this one. In the course of duty, she'd gained fifteen pounds and acquired a permanent distaste for fowl in all its many forms. If this feast had any differences, these lay solely in the spices used on the local game birds and the unusual posture required of the waiters.

That serving style _did_ hold her attention, though. Especially since the man kneeling at her feet was one who habitually gave the orders himself, and in a manner that in no way endeared him to his subordinates.

Not that Avon's brusqueness particularly bothered Soolin--she'd worked for worse, Dorian among them--but she had to admit she found it amusing to watch Avon playing the obedient servant, pouring wine, cutting meat and generally making himself useful as well as decorative. 

It was certainly more than she could say for his usual role around Xenon Base.

Between courses, Kalia amused herself by running her fingers through Avon's hair, which Soolin admitted looked quite soft and mussable. With an effort Soolin could hardly even begin to imagine, Avon kept his expression neutral. Even faintly pleasant, if one strained one's imagination a bit. 

"So you're planning a meeting of all the warlords at your base." Absently, Kalia kicked off one of her sandals, running her bare foot along Avon's thinly-clad thigh. Avon's lips drew back from his teeth for one revealing instant, then pressed firmly together again, returning his face to neutrality. 

Obviously, Avon _really_ wanted this alliance. 

With difficulty, Soolin dragged her gaze to the warlord's face, which showed nothing but a businesslike interest in the conversation. "Yes, after we reach a preliminary agreement." From the corner of her eye, she could see Kalia's foot moving up and down Avon's leg, in much the same rhythmic motion as someone might use to stroke a domesticated pet. "Of course, we don't want to divulge the location of the base to anyone who is not a committed ally."

"Naturally." Kalia squirmed slightly on the couch, as if to improve the angle of her foot. "Now if you could give me an idea of the scope of this proposed alliance. How many systems were you planning to include?"

As accustomed as Soolin had become to odd situations--work as a mercenary had produced many such--she found herself having some small difficulty concentrating on the matter at hand, as the warlord's bare foot continued to roam, venturing beyond Avon's thighs to hips and stomach and...

Abruptly, Soolin drained the last sip of wine in her glass, letting the slight acidity haul her back to reality and her carefully-constructed negotiating script. "At least five non-Federation systems, including one with the raw materials for the antidote for Pylene-50 have indicated..." As she spoke, she held out the goblet negligently for a refill.

Avon lifted the wine pitcher and poured, looking white around the lips.

*******

"But when are you going to get to the _sex_?" Dayna demanded.

"Hey, I was enjoying that!" Vila protested. "Avon groveling and getting groped with some lady's foot and all that. It's good stuff. Not the kind of thing you get to hear about every day."

"If all of you would just stop..." Servalan stepped into the middle of the room, as if to referee the dispute and bring it back to the area of her own interests. But the combatants continued to talk around her. 

"You promised," Dayna continued earnestly. "If one of us got to make it with Avon, she'd tell the other, _all_ the details, every single touch and thrust. Now I find you're holding out on me."

Tarrant sat up on his cot, looking indignant. " _All_ the details? Dayna, how could you?"

Dayna waved aside his protest. "Not about you, Del. Only if one of us screwed Avon."

_That_ idea obviously irritated Tarrant even more. "Hey..."

"Women don't like nice men, Tarrant," Vila said morosely. "Look at me. I'm the nicest fellow you'd ever want to see and..."

"If you'll just tell me where _Orac_ is..."

"It's employer-employee confidentiality," Soolin told her friend, talking across Tarrant, Vila and Servalan. "I wanted to tell you about it, Dayna, I really did, but a contract is a contract."

"So tell me about it now." Dayna got up from her cot, crossing the room to sit by Soolin, the brown head leaning confidentially close to the blonde. "What happened when she got Avon up to her bedchamber?"

*******

The warlord dismissed her personal servant at the door with a smile and a discreet caress. Surprisingly, Kalia's male appeared to be a man several years older than herself, with salt-and-pepper hair and a pleasantly craggy face. He received his conge with a faint twitch of his lips and a suggestion of a wink accompanying his formal bow.

Not an ordinary masculine toy, obviously. Predictability did not appear to be a personality trait favored by the warlord. A fact she might be wise to remember.

But when Kalia turned from the door, she was business as usual. Though this hardly seemed business in the strict sense of the word. The amity ritual included more than a bit of pleasure in the mix.

Kalia crossed the room to where Avon stood beside the low, wide bed, as still as a marble statue, as tense and coiled as a predator about to attack. He remained motionless as the warlord circled him, but Soolin saw his chest rise and fall in an accelerated rhythm, as if storing oxygen for fight or flight.

"You _do_ have good taste, Soolin." She touched his hair, his cheek, and his shoulder lightly, as if appraising a choice piece of merchandise presented for purchase. "He's not perfect, but he's very...different, very...I can't quite put my finger on it." She stroked his cheek again, then smoothed a few stray dark hairs from his forehead. "He almost looks genuinely dangerous."

If you only knew.

The warlord's slender hands slid down under the neckline of the white bodysuit. "Is he skilled?"

Soolin discarded the "how the hell should I know?" which rose naturally to her lips. On one hand, she couldn't imagine Avon _not_ being fairly proficient at any activity he deigned to indulge in. The man had an ego a parsec wide. On the other, he'd been as celibate as any monk on Xenon, unless Dayna had violated the terms of their agreement, which Soolin thought unlikely. She went with her best guess. "Very, your excellency." 

Now if he didn't live up to his billing, she'd be very embarrassed. But that was probably inevitable in any case.

Avon shot her an enigmatic glance from beneath his eyelashes, then fixed his gaze on the floor once more.

Stepping back a pace, Kalia looked over at Soolin. "I'll start, shall I? Warlord's privilege, after all."

Soolin smiled graciously and made an "after you" gesture, feeling a trace of relief. Not that mixed gender sports would be a new experience for her, but it wasn't her preference and logistics tended to be a bore in any orgy. Taking turns seemed simpler.

With an unselfconscious lack of grace, Kalia dropped the red and gold robes so that they pooled at her feet, leaving her clad in a deep red body suit, similar to Avon's if slightly more substantial. Kicking the robes aside, she stepped close to Avon, once more hooking her fingers under the neck of the garment. "Let's see what's beneath, shall we?"

She peeled the material down slowly, as if lingering over the unwrapping of a gift package. Avon's shoulders and chest emerged from the white fabric, not heavily muscled like an athlete's, but with the strong contours of a man forced, despite his wishes, into an active life. Neither bulky nor slender, his body had a kind of compact grace that brought to Soolin's memory holos of classical sculpture seen as a child. Grecian, perhaps, or something out of the Renaissance. 

Whatever the artistic associations, the warlord obviously approved. Letting the bodysuit fall to Avon's waist, she ran her hands over his pectorals--dappled with dark, curling hair--scraping her short, unadorned nails over the nipples. 

Expression flickered over Avon's face like a flash of lightning on a summer's night, here and gone, leaving nothing in its wake but his usual stubborn impassivity. 

"Very nice," Kalia murmured, and seized the fabric once more, pulling it inexorably downward over trim hips and surprisingly shapely legs. Soolin remembered the stories about men in pre-atomic times who--wearing form-fitting hose rather than trousers--supplemented their calves with sawdust pads to achieve the proper curves. No need for that with Avon.

After an appreciative glance, Kalia hunkered down without ceremony to pull the garment off his feet, as Avon lifted one, then the other leg in reluctant cooperation with the procedure. More than ever, he looked like a predator struggling to spring, but bound with invisible shackles instead of the symbolic silver handcuffs and collar. The manacles were his obsession with Servalan's destruction, the choke-collar his endless battle against near-hopeless odds. 

Nonetheless, he was not wholly unmoved by the proceedings.

Crouched down as she was, Kalia was at eye level with Avon's partial erection, which he appeared to be valiantly attempting to ignore, his head turned and his gaze fixed on a floral tapestry decorating the wall opposite the bed. Kalia glanced at Soolin. " _All_ of him is quite...beautiful." 

Leaning forward, she touched him lightly with her lips, then opened her mouth to let her tongue run lightly, teasingly around the crown before thrusting her head suddenly forward to engulf him completely. A shiver ran the length of Avon's nude form, then he froze as if in truth turned to marble. And when Kalia drew back, Soolin could see at least one part of him had certainly become stone.

"That's what I like to see." Kalia rose to her feet, carelessly shucking her bodysuit and tossing it aside to join the red and gold robes on the floor. "Now, Avon. Demonstrate that skill Soolin has told me about." She sat on the edge of the bed, legs a bit asplay, looking at Avon with a slight, expectant smile on her face. 

Avon hesitated, and Soolin wondered if he'd draw back at this, the last possible moment. And if so, whether their farewell from the warlord's court would be as cordial as their welcome. And whether she'd need her gun, now tucked away at the entry checkpoint. But after a few breathless seconds of doubt, he inclined his head, in the manner of a monarch receiving some favor from a minor subject. "As you command." 

Crossing to the bed, he knelt between Kalia's legs and touched the warlord's lips with his.

Soolin had never seen anyone, male or female, kiss with such absolute concentration as Avon. It was completely impersonal, an obvious demonstration of technical expertise with not a trace of real emotion attached. But effective. Oh, yes, very effective. Soolin's own lips tingled with sensation just from witnessing it, and she could almost feel Avon's tongue in her mouth, searching out the sensitive areas with facile dexterity.

The warlord's eyes closed, and her arms went around Avon's shoulders, pulling him forward, circling him with her smoothly-muscled legs, immersing herself completely in that proficient kiss. Endless moments passed, broken only by harsh breathing, the sound of flesh shifting against flesh, and the slight creak of the mattress as Kalia pulled Avon's body closer and closer.

Soolin found that she wished rather fervently to sit down. On a cushioned surface, preferably, but right smack in the middle of the highly-polished wood floor if nothing else should prove available. 

As if she'd overheard the thought, Kalia very slowly broke the kiss and, putting her fingers over Avon's lips as if to hold her place, glanced at Soolin. She gestured to a corner of the wide bed. "You might as well make yourself comfortable. This could take awhile."

She waited until Soolin had settled into the indicated space, then turned her attention back to Avon. "Very good, for a start. Now. What else can you do?"

As it turned out, quite a bit. Soolin wondered where Avon had studied his technique. Perhaps there was a library of erotica tucked into an obscure corner of Orac's database. Or conceivably a computer expert would use virtual reality to polish his sexual skills. Whatever the source of his knowledge, it was certain that he touched the warlord's body with the same precision and care he bestowed on Slave and Orac and all the other mechanical contrivances on Xenon Base, but never seemed to be able to apply to the feelings of human beings under his command. 

Maybe if they all pretended to be machines...

Soolin prided herself on her objectivity, her ability to distance herself from any situation and to be entirely apart from other's emotions. But now for all her practice at indifference, at dispassion, she found herself drawn into the scene before her, her breathing coming hard and fast, her hands clenching, and her legs tightening together in an effort to put pressure where she most desired it to be.

Bad enough to see Avon use those curiously graceful hands and well-shaped mouth to caress what seemed to be every centimeter of Kalia's neck and shoulders and modest breasts...slowly, oh gods, so slowly. But then the dark head moved inexorably lower, to her stomach and hips and finally between her legs, and Soolin lost all pretense at dispassion or indifference. 

To think of that tongue--that clever, sarcastic, oh-so-irritating tongue--at last put to a proper use. 

Kalia's hips thrust upward, as if to bring herself in even closer contact. Soolin's own hips jerked in empathy and her fingers took a death grip on the edge of the mattress.

*******

"I can't _believe_ you kept this back from me!" Dayna's voice was anguished, filled with a combination of emotions Soolin understood too well.

"Shhhh. Don't distract her." Vila scooted to the edge of his cot, his face sharp with intense interest. "This is getting good."

"Orac," whispered Servalan, as if duty-bound. But her heart was obviously not in it, for the next instant she sat on the side of Soolin's cot opposite Dayna and said, "Go on."

A fully-charged laser cannon couldn't have stopped Soolin now.

*******

"Satisfactory?" Avon sat back on his heels, regarding the warlord through his eyelashes. It was difficult for a man with that obvious an erection to pretend indifference and, to his credit, he didn't try, but Soolin judged he was truly torn between arousal and outrage. 

A man who valued control of his destiny as much as Avon wouldn't want to make love with handcuffs on his wrists and a slave collar on his neck. And that the situation was entirely of his own devising probably didn't improve his outlook a great deal.

"Not bad at all." Kalia stretched luxuriously, then glanced around as if considering logistics and tactics, like any good military leader. Raising herself slightly from the bed, she reached out to tug away the plush multicolor spread, revealing sheets of some dark, silky material below. 

Soolin obediently raised herself from the bed long enough for the warlord to push the cover off the mattress and onto the floor. This, she supposed, was the time to ask what was going happen next, but on the other hand, that query had a rather obvious answer and disingenuous naivete wasn't her style. 

The warlord slid to the middle of the bed and leaned back on her elbows, looking at Avon consideringly. "From behind, I think. Hmmm. Yes, I rather like that idea. You'll be free to use those talented hands of yours to good effect." 

Soolin wished Kalia had chosen the missionary style, or female on top, or indeed any position that didn't provide such an unimpeded view of the proceedings. It proved very difficult for her to keep her eyes off Avon's tempting and obvious erection. Until, of course, he positioned himself behind the warlord and thrust into her with one smooth, economical movement that produced a gasp and an "oh, yes" from the other woman. 

At least it wouldn't take long now, not with the prolonged buildup Kalia and Avon had lavished on the matter. _Get on with it, will you, Avon?_

But neither of them seemed in a hurry for the final push. Avon's hips thrust forward, then back in a leisurely, graceful rhythm that seemed taken from an erotic ballet, while Kalia's sinuous response indicated she was extracting the maximum enjoyment from the dance, and most particularly her partner. One of Avon's competent hands rode her hip, keeping their movements in tandem, while the other, as per the warlord's request, took inventory of her easily-accessible erogenous zones.

Soolin wished the warlord would stop moaning quite so enthusiastically. True, it reassured her that she'd not been guilty of false advertising when describing Avon's skill, but it was still...distracting. 

As was Avon's free hand, which had found a temporary home at the crest of Kalia's slight breast, fingertips circling and teasing the erect nipple with the same care he used manipulate circuits and wires. Thumb and forefinger squeezed together carefully over the tip, gauging with scientific exactitude the precise degree of pressure desired to bring forth--yes, another moan. As if satisfied with success, the fingers continued pressing, squeezing, pulling.

She'd never be able to watch Avon work on a computer again, not with any degree of comfort.

But after a few minutes, the warlord's hand covered Avon's, putting a stop to what Soolin could only categorize as slow torture, pulling it away from her breast and sliding it down between her legs. Soolin really wished she could find something on the opposite wall more interesting than Avon's clever fingers, as they separated the folds of the labia and found...

The warlord's body jerked sharply and the low groan seemed pulled from a register lower and deeper than her normal tones. 

Soolin took a stronger hold on the edge of the mattress, telling herself it had to end soon, now. It must. Kalia shivered in time with the stroking of Avon's finger over her clitoris, and the moans had nearly faded, as though sensation had grown too strong to be given voice. All that could be heard was Kalia's and Avon's harsh, irregular breathing and the slap of flesh against flesh as the tempo hastened, then hastened yet more.

"Ahhh...ahhh." Kalia's face contorted in an expression very much like agony and her body began to shake as the orgasm took her. Avon's arms slid around her, pulling her backward against his chest as he thrust into her the final few times, his teeth bared in effort, his face...

*******

"Your attention to detail is admirable, Soolin, but I think even Vila can manage to reason out the rest." Avon's face was a study in mixed emotions, teetering precariously between annoyance at the destruction of his privacy and the satisfaction of a male ego fed to the bursting point. He looked like a tomcat undecided whether to spit or to purr.

"I can't stop at half a story, Avon." Literally, she couldn't. The drug wouldn't let her. Besides, Dayna would have apoplexy.

"Half a story? You mean..." Tarrant sat up on his cot, staring at Avon in disbelief. "After all that, you and Avon still... That's not possible. Avon's too..." Tarrant bit off the word "old" before it could actually pass his lips, apparently deciding that an unfinished sentence was the better part of valor.

"He needed a few minutes rest, of course. But for a man his age..."

Avon's expression darkened.

"...It actually didn't take very long at all."

"But the warlord surely didn't _require_ you to..." Soolin couldn't decide whether Tarrant's concern was for Avon's stamina, virtue, or the possibility that Avon might distract Dayna from his own charms. Probably the latter.

"Tarrant, you're fond of pre-atomic quotations, aren't you?"

"Yes," he admitted cautiously. 

Soolin smiled blandly and her voice took on the suggestion of a drawl. "A woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do." She jogged Dayna in the ribs companionably. "And I did. Oh, yes, I most certainly did."

*******

"This isn't necessary." Soolin felt like a dinner guest politely rejecting a particularly rich dessert, secure in the knowledge that her hostess would insist, leaving her with both the sweet and an unearned sense of virtue.

"But it is the custom," said Kalia on cue. "Besides." She brushed her fingertips over the aristocratic sweep of Avon's cheekbones as he lay back against the pillows, eyes closed and for once quiescent. "He's very beautiful. I want to watch you make love to him."

Soolin's body clamored eager acceptance of the proposition. Ordinarily, she disliked having an audience, but at this moment the whole crew of _Scorpio_ could've been stationed around the bed, sipping drinks and making snide commentary, and her only request would be for them to lower the volume so as not to break her concentration.

"Very well." ( _That chocolate torte looks delicious, but I'm really only eating it because I don't wish to insult your hospitality_.) 

She slid to the top of the bed as the warlord moved courteously aside. Avon lay very still against the dark sheets, a pale-skinned gemstone displayed against a setting of perfect contrast. His eyelids stirred at the sound of her voice and lifted, dark eyes fixed impassively on her face. Despite his body's physiological reaction in the hour past, the incisive mind was still in a state of acute objection to the situation.

On impulse, Soolin straddled his body, her silky black caftan covering him in drifts, leaning over so her lips touched his ear. "Close your eyes and think about the revolution," she whispered.

His lips twitched, half into a smile, half into a scowl, as if he didn't know whether to be irritated or amused. "Let's just finish it, shall we?" His voice was quiet, pitched to her ears alone.

"Have to give the marks a show," she replied sensibly. Then kissed him. He tasted of the wine that Kalia had given him sips of at dinner and the more organic taste of the warlord's body. 

For a moment, he was unresponsive to the caress, as passive as a graven image under her lips and tongue and now-wandering hands. Then abruptly the balance shifted, his lips moving, his tongue meeting and brushing hers, the sudden contact jolting through her like an electrostatic charge. Her hips jerked forward and down in abrupt response... Avon's technique was just as impressive on the receiving end as it had appeared from a distance.

"Remember your place," she breathed into his mouth. "The warlord wants to see a little role-reversal here; I'm to make love to you." 

In actuality, she thought Kalia had spoken in pure generalities and wouldn't much care who took the more active role. However, setting down terms with Avon was not a thing members of his crew often got the opportunity to do. Besides, she had seen what he could do to a woman...now she wanted to see what a woman--a very determined woman--could do to him. 

He nodded imperceptively, but his body remained coiled with tension, the tension of a man not accustomed to relinquishing control, much less giving it voluntarily to another and that other one ordinarily under his command. To hold this ascendancy over Avon was a very appealing idea. A very dangerous idea.

And Soolin loved danger.

Deliberately, she disengaged her lips and raised her head to look at him, her pale hair coming down from its loops and braids and trailing down over his face and shoulders. When she'd whispered in his ear, had she felt a response?

Lowering her head again, she breathed softly in Avon's ear, her senses registering a faint shiver of reaction in the body below hers. Oh, yes. She took his earlobe lightly between her teeth, scraping over it once, twice...

"Soolin." It was an admonitory whisper and a not altogether steady one.

No mercy, she thought, though she had the sense not to utter the words aloud. Few people, male or female, had ever had this man at a disadvantage. She planned to enjoy the rare privilege fully. 

She settled down to gnaw thoughtfully on his ear, interspersing that diet by exploring the inner shell with the tip of her tongue. The minuscule, reluctant twitches of response were somehow more intriguing and more arousing than a whole raft of moans and sighs from a less guarded male.

A challenge, her oh-so-armored employer. Just her style.

She wanted his throat next. A beautiful throat, strong and firm, a pillar supporting Avon's fortress of composure. She'd bring it down with her teeth, her tongue and her lips, then dance in the ruins.

Pursuing her goal under the angle of his chin, she traced a tendon with her tongue and tested her teeth against his skin like a vampire not yet ready for blood. Her lips lingered on the pulse point, which hammered fast and hard in defiance of all his considerable power of will.

"Get. It. Over. With." he repeated, his whisper that of a man on the thin edge of command. A man who saw command slipping away.

Soolin slowly sat up. She wasn't willing to get it over with, as directed, but she didn't mind proceeding to the next stage. The warlord had battered at the edges of Avon's barriers, weakening him with the sexual pleasure he obviously hadn't indulged in for too long a time. Only a bit of determined effort would be required to reduce those walls to mere rubble, to give her a glimpse of what lay within.

Pulling the loose caftan over her head, she tossed it to the floor atop the warlord's robes, leaving her clothed only in a black lace and silk camisole and briefs. She reached down to take his hands in both of hers...they were blunt and competent, but he used them as if they were elegant and graceful, so that's how she perceived them to be. "Help me."

The muscles around Avon's jaw twitched with the effort to maintain impassivity. "I thought I was forbidden to participate."

"Not when I command otherwise. As I do now."

The thick, dark eyelashes flickered, expressing and hiding expression in the same gesture. "Ah. Of course."

Her fingers freed his to attack the row of tiny clasps at the front of the camisole, his usual deftness compromised by the slightest of tremors. He would hate even that small a revelation. At last, though, the camisole slid off her shoulders and down her arms, joining the pile on the floor.

The briefs proved more of a production. Once the elegant-seeming hands had worked them over her hips, she sat back, extending her legs so he could slip the garment off. Her buttocks just brushed against a part of him that was hard and sensitive, and that became even harder as she moved back against him with deliberation.

_Oh, I feel your vaunted indifference, Kerr Avon. I feel it very clearly._

The last piece of lingerie dropped over the bed's edge. "Thank you."

"Will there be anything else?" The low voice was deliberately heavy with sarcasm and it was possible that he didn't hear the edge of his own desperation. The control he so valued hung by a very ragged thread.

"Perhaps later."

She straddled him again, knees on either side of his hips. Stripping the remaining pins from her hair, she dipped her head so the soft strands fell against his shoulders and chest. Slowly, slowly, she drew backward, so that the hair trailed after her.

A shudder ran through his body and he made a convulsive movement, as if to escape. Almost instinctively, she grasped his wrists in her hands, the silver manacles cold and hard against her sensitive palms, and pinned them against the silk sheet on either side of his head.

He was hers. Her prisoner, her captive, hers to ravish. Hers to drive wild. Hers to fuck senseless.

Get a hold of yourself, Soolin.

Carefully, she leaned back again, rubbing her vulva against the length of his penis, all the way to the tip and back again. The shackles shifted in her grip as he clenched his hands, then loosened them with a palpable effort. She was very wet now and he'd feel that dampness transfer itself to the length of his shaft, and could imagine how it would feel to immerse himself in her and feel the moist flexible sheath enclose him.

Better shift away from that train of thought or she'd lose control herself. And she knew, from the moment past, how close that edge could be.

She kept the contact for a few more seconds, then sank down onto him again, brushing her hair and lips over his chest and down. For all the insensitivity he displayed for his crew, his skin was a minefield of nerve endings now, explosions revealing themselves in the small, hissed intakes of breath as she licked his skin and ran her teeth lightly over his nipples. Ah, to be master of the master of Xenon Base. She should have considered taking her salary out in trade long ago.

But now to go lower...and lower. She grazed her lips over the soft, vulnerable skin of his belly, dipped her tongue into the shallow navel. The body beneath hers went as taut as a steel thread; beneath the manacles, she felt the tendons in his wrists stretch and tighten, as if fighting an unseen enemy. _Just wait, Avon. Just wait. It gets better. And worse._

Reluctantly, she released his wrists as she slid further down his body, seeking his ultimate vulnerability, her ultimate goal. _So hard. So beautiful._ She took his testicles between her fingers in a careful caress, and bent further to conquer with her mouth the man who'd conquered so many with his. Tongue, teeth (gently!), scraping over the head, teasing with soft bites, then engulfing him all in a warm haven. Delicious. She could make this a steady diet.

Was that a sound? A low, vibrant baritone...moan? 

She redoubled her efforts. Pressure, suction, just a tiny threat of pain from her hand and the edges of her teeth. He was a man who appreciated danger as much as herself. And, oh, yes, the low cry again, the sound of victory, a husky music to her ears. 

But she mustn't go too far. She wanted to see his face when he came, see that hard cynicism become...what? Well, she'd know before too many minutes have passed, but only if she changed positions. 

She let go of the treat reluctantly, coming up on her haunches once more. His hands were still pinned on either side of his head, as though she had left invisible chains there, and his head was thrown back on the pillow, hair mussed into a dark halo, eyes squeezed shut, lashes thick and lush against the pale skin. 

"Avon. Stay like that." She put herself into position, holding him so that she could impale herself like some ecstatic martyr at a very special stake. "Ahhh." She slid down on him, clenching and unclenching around the rigid flesh and, as from a distance, she heard him release a long, shuddering breath. "Oh, yes. Avon."

Almost, it was as if she held the dark, mysterious essence of him between her legs and was riding it. She felt so close to piercing the veil. His hips bucked under hers and his lashes lifted to reveal intent, dark, but almost sightless eyes. He had gone beyond himself at last.

One strong hand reached out to grasp the curve of her hip, as if to guide her movements, the fingers of the other homing to the sensitive location just at the juncture of her legs. Well, she could allow that now, now that she had gone so far to winning her own victory.

She gasped as he found the clitoris. But she'd better hurry, or she'd lose all that she'd fought so hard to get.

Moving slowly at first, she picked up pace as she found the rhythm to drive him toward madness. He clenched his teeth and moved with her, trying to follow as she moved almost, but not quite, out of his reach. The clever fingers dug into her hip, trying to confine her and not succeeding. She kept her own pace.

Faster. Harder. Deeper. His head pressed further back against the black silk, an expression almost like pain taking his face and softening the hard lines. A concentration deeper than he bestowed on any computer transformed him, gifting him with a stern, transcendental beauty. 

"Soolin."

Her name on his lips, breathed with entreaty rather than command, did more than any skillful touch could do, sending her over, making her convulse around him and clutch the empty air, crying out his name.

And they went down together, the last sight she glimpsed before the void closed over her Avon's face as she'd never seen it...softened, lost in pleasure at a place seldom visited. A small--this time desired--death.

********

 After a long, stunned silence, Tarrant cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "Just the same." He carefully didn't look at Avon. "I gather the warlord wasn't all that impressed by the performance. At any rate, she wasn't one of those attending the summit."

The corner of Soolin's lip quirked upward. "Avon's presentation was quite adequate, I believe. It was the quality of his allies she doubted."

*******

"I'm sorry, Soolin. I can't see my way clear right now." Kalia sat behind the broad herculaneum desk in her office, surrounded by a clutter of printouts and data disks, the paraphernalia of a chief executive at work. "I didn't realize you had included Zukan in this alliance, and I'm afraid I can't afford to trust the man, given his past record. He'd sell out his own daughter for ambition." 

Soolin tried to think of other arguments to marshal, but had the feeling that once this woman's mind was fixed, that no persuasion would move her. "Perhaps later, if conditions change?"

"Very possibly. I think you are right...the Federation is a danger to us, and this woman Sleer clearly wants to expand into our regions. Let's stay in contact and perhaps we can work something out in the future." 

Soolin nodded and turned to the door. Avon wouldn't like it, but short of taking out her weapon--which was at the checkpoint, anyway--and holding the Warlord of Freyuss at gunpoint, she didn't see any way of bringing her into the alliance.

The warlord's voice halted her just short of the door. "Soolin." 

She turned to find the warlord regarding her with a slight, quizzical smile on her lips. "I was wondering. If you had succeeded in convincing me to join your alliance, how you would have handled it when I attended your summit meeting?"

"Pardon me? Handled what?"

The smile grew. "The fact that Avon is actually your leader rather than your slave."

With difficulty, Soolin kept her mouth from falling open. "You knew."

The warlord laughed softly. "From the very beginning. I do have intelligence sources outside this system, Soolin. It doesn't do to negotiate from a position of ignorance, after all."

"You knew, but you didn't..." Soolin's mind reeled at the implications.

"It's always amusing to let men make fools of themselves, Soolin, which they'll inevitably do if you give them even half an opportunity. I'll admit I indulged myself. Your male possess...er, Avon, is very attractive."

"He'll do in a pinch," Soolin agreed wryly.

"Will you tell him the truth?" Kalia picked up a data disk and turned it over between her fingers, examining Soolin curiously. Probably wondering what life was like for women who didn't own their males.

"No." The atmosphere on Xenon Base was not what one could call pleasant as it was. Adding an infuriated Avon with bruised pride would hardly instill any good cheer to the mix.

"Probably wise. Even in their subordinate role, the men here can make life fairly unpleasant when they sulk." Kalia rose and gave Soolin her hand. "Farewell, Soolin of Xenon. And feel free to bring your leader Avon back any time for further...negotiations."

*******

"And you didn't tell him _any_ of this?" said Vila in an awed voice.

"Almost none," Soolin temporized. And she wouldn't have told him now if there hadn't been several vials of Federation interrogation drug racing through her bloodstream. "I did mention that the warlord had invited us to return for further negotiations."

Vila's head swiveled toward Avon. "And you didn't go back?"

Avon bared his teeth. His expression had gone through several changes through the latter part of the tale, none of them pleasant. "No, Vila, I didn't go back. I may very well be easy," the teeth clenched a bit more, "but I'm not cheap."


End file.
